


Lakeside Retreat

by spacebuck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Meet-Ugly, Shrunkyclunks, Vacation AU, bucky barnes and the terrible horrible no good very bad day, cap!steve - Freeform, fandomtrumpshate2017, is that the one?, modern!Bucky, post-tws bucky, sometimes forced vacations help you get a date, writer!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14249718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: When Bucky Barnes (writer, sometimes) is sent to Lake Placid to relax and work on his next novel, he's not expecting his trip to get off to such a bad start. Anything that could go wrong, has - until he's rescued from his own misery by his handsome neighbour, who looks mighty familiar.





	Lakeside Retreat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lasenby_Heathcote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasenby_Heathcote/gifts).



> so, a year late but i finally made it! this was a fic commissioned by Lasenby_Heathcote (lasenbyphoenix on tumblr!) as part of the 2017 fandomtrumpshate auction! i've personally had a pretty... terrible year so this got back-burnered like nothing else, but my winner has been nothing but amazingly patient, kind, and forgiving, and finally, it is done
> 
> the initial prompt was, to paraphrase, "Person A is moving into the neighbourhood where Person B lives. But everything seems to be going wrong. Person B takes pity on them and helps them out." i hope i've done it justice!

The little ding of the in-flight intercom startled Bucky Barnes from his doze, and he only just managed to save the bottle of water sitting on the pull-down tray. He smiled apologetically at the woman next to him, who just glared in return, and sighed, tuning into the captain’s words, before immediately tuning out again as the man droned on about the weather. It wasn’t like it was _important_ in the long run.

He looked out of his window again, over the shimmering lights of the early evening city. It wasn’t dark enough for it to truly stand out, not yet, but it’d probably be quite pretty at the right time. Too bad Bucky wasn’t sticking around.

The landing was bumpy, shaking him around enough to almost make him sick, and he supposed that they’d been warned in the weather update he hadn’t listened to. Typically. By the time they’d stopped moving, he was swearing under his breath, making the woman beside him laugh. She didn’t offer any words of advice, or condolences, and he appreciated that at least. He was one of the last off the plane, waiting for her, and most of the others, to depart, before sliding into the aisle and reaching up into the overhead lockers. No matter how hard he tried, his sleeves always inevitably slipped up, and he heard a soft noise to his left. Glancing over, he met the eyes of a shocked looking flight attendant, who had obviously come over to give him a hand getting his carry on down.

Stupid, _stupid_.

Grabbing the handle of his bag, he yanked it off the shelf with a little more force than necessary, nearly hitting himself in the head with it in his haste. The woman, Alice according to her nametag, stepped back a little to avoid it, then gave him a smile that seemed far too forced to be real. Bucky rolled his shoulder a little, pulling his arm back under the sleeve of his shirt, and pasted an equally awkward smile on his face, waiting for her to move out of his way. She seemed to get the hint, startling a little and stepping into the row of seats in front of his to let him pass.

Bucky let the expression drop as soon as he was on the gangway, bag over his left shoulder, knocking against his hip as he walked. He tightened his hand a little on his laptop bag, and couldn’t help but wonder if this had been a good idea at all.

 

*

 

Getting out of an airport always seemed to take longer than checking in. He rolled his shoulder to bump his bag up again, dropped his head a little, and headed for the carousel. He arrived just as it started to move, the gentle whir followed by the flapping of plastic strips as the first bags breached the little door between the carousel and the inner workings of the airport.

Bucky watched the bags come out, one by one by one, looking for the tell-tale streak of red across grey canvas, but he couldn’t see anything that looked even close to his bag. He waited, frowning as he watched the bags start to look familiar, repeating, dwindling as they were retrieved by others who’d been on his plane.

Still waiting. Still nothing.

 _Fuck_.

Bucky glanced around, looking for one of the ever-present staff members, and spotted one by the next carousel over. Picking up his laptop bag again, he walked over quickly, nearly at a jog really, and, though it felt a little strained, tried for a smile anyway as the man looked up.

“Hey, I think my bag might be lost? I’ve been waiting at the conveyor for about ten minutes now and nothing new has come around.”

The man smiled, checked his ticket pointed out a carousel. Bucky nodded, explained that it _had_ been the one he’d been standing at. The man’s smile turned brittle. _Yeah, me too buddy_ , Bucky thought. “Alright, we’ll take you through to customer service, it might be still out the back.” At least the guy was professional.

 

*

 

An hour later, and at least Bucky could say they were thorough. Not only was he asked for a description of the bag, and what was in them (he hadn’t realised the number of ways to describe underwear, and how few descriptors of the clothes he wore he could actually come up with), but he was asked for pictures, his ticket to scan, any stubs from the bag tag that had been printed. Phone calls had been made, first to the baggage sorting, then to the airport in Indiana. He sat, twiddled his thumbs, played free games on his phone, tweeted things he’d regret the next day. Checked the time, asked for a glass of water, took his pills, napped on the hard-edged plastic chair.

Eventually, good news. They’d found his bag, which had somehow ended up in New York City, and they’d courier it to him for no cost. The woman in charge seemed surprised when he accepted that without complaint, and just filled out the form with his contact details, and the address he’d be staying at. He could go a few days without it, he knew. He had all his pills in his carry on, his chargers and his laptop. So he could still _work_ , he’d just have to pick up a toothbrush and deodorant on the way to the rental.

And then, freedom. Sort of. It felt like another hour, probably was near on that, by the time he reached the security checkpoint to actually leave the airport, handed his medication declaration slip over to the security guard, feeling like a student with a hall pass. After a long silence mostly filled with the man reading a line, looking at Bucky in confusion, then reading the next line, he was out, making his way across the last bit of the terminal to the rental car kiosk.

Only to be told that, because of his delay, the car they’d had ready for him had been sent out with a late booking, and he’d have to wait while they got another car ready. Typically. At least he had time for all the paperwork.

Half an hour later and he was offered the keys to a car that was probably out of his price range, but by that point, he couldn’t really give two shits about it. He took the keys with relish, picked up his too-few bags, and headed out of the terminal.

The car was… expensive looking, to say the least. Big and sleek, it made him feel like some fancy editor or sports star, someone important rather than just _Bucky Barnes, sort of writer if he could get his ass into gear and actually do his job_. The windows were tinted, and he could feel himself relaxing as soon as he slid into the leather driver’s seat. He thumbed on the GPS, put in the rental address, and, after a moment of poking around, managed to get the Bluetooth connection to his phone working. He pulled out of the airport parking lot with a relieved sigh, his own music playing softly as a background to his own thoughts.

Nothing, blessedly, went wrong on the trip, nearly four hours in which he concentrated on the road and tried to keep his mind blank of thoughts beyond driving. There were the odd construction works slowing him down on top of his brief stop-off at a 24-hour supermarket, but a Google search of the route before he’d left had warned him of those, and frankly, they weren’t that much of a hindrance.

 

*

 

By the time he reached the Adirondack foothills, it was true night, the beams of his headlights cutting through the black and barely keeping the darkness at bay. Without a doubt, the area was beautiful and would be had he timed everything a little better. Probably would have been timed perfectly had he not been stuck in an airport for an extra hour, if he was honest with himself. He took his turnoff, heading away from the interstate and into the hills. He supposed he’d be able to see one of the lakes if it had been brighter too, but there wasn’t even light from the moon, the clouds that had been threatening rain all day not budging despite the lack of sunlight.

Bucky stopped at a stop sign, despite the empty roads, and took a moment to switch the Spotify channel on his phone away from the classic driving music to something quieter. It wouldn’t be long now, Lake Placid would be visible just around the corner if it’d been any other time of day. He put the car into gear again, took his turn, and headed towards the town.

Twenty minutes later he sighed, relieved, as he pulled into the driveway of the little lake house. The street was empty, cars up driveways and curtains drawn in every window, and he was infinitely glad for it. Despite what the real estate agent had told him, he’d assumed that a Saturday night would be cause for a party, somewhere for some reason, and he was pretty sure that had he arrived to find one, he’d have turned around and driven right back out, rent or no rent. He parked up in front of the garage, switched the car off, and took a deep breath, then another. Stretched out his hands, muscles on the left pulling tight against bone and metal, and he hissed, low and quiet. Dropping his hands to his lap, he got his seatbelt undone, then pushed the door open, climbing out and looking up at the house. When his editor had told him it was a lakeside cabin, he hadn’t thought to mention exactly what people around there meant by _cabin_.

Just from looking at the front, he could tell it was big, sprawled out over the property. The trees along the fence-line blocked the view from the next house over, and he assumed there was plenty of room out the back. Sighing, Bucky turned to his car. He yanked out his shoulder bag, was a little more careful with his laptop case. Put the car key in his jean pocket. Froze.

“Shit, shit.” He dropped his bag, setting the laptop against the back wheel, and knelt on the pavement. Unzipping it quickly, he prayed to whoever was listening that he hadn’t been stupid enough to put the keys to the rental in his checked luggage. _God_ but Sam would lose his _shit_ if Bucky had to call him in the middle of the night. He’d be the office laughing stock for weeks once he got back. He dug his hands past his spare hoodie, balled up around his extra chargers, and his fingers brushed cool metal. Heart in his throat, he struggled to close his fingers around it, the metal dancing out of his grip whenever he almost had it. Finally he managed to squeeze it between two fingers and yank it out.

The light from the street lamp was enough that he could lean back, see the rental logo on the little keyring. Breathe in. Breathe out. He zipped his bag up, pushed himself back to his feet. Shouldered his gear and headed for the front door. He fumbled the lock at first, key upside down, then missing the hole entirely, but he got it in, heard the satisfying click as the lock gave way. He stepped in, dumped his bag against the wall, and closed the door behind him. Reached out, fingers weak against the wall, left arm shaking just a little after the exertion of driving for so long. Found the light switch. Clicked it on.

Nothing happened.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, flicking the switch off, then back on again as if that’d make a difference. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm. He could be calm. Fingers staying against the wall, he made his way up the hall, his free hand in front of him to feel out for any stupidly placed cabinets or tables that his shins would thank him for in the morning.

He found another doorway, turned. By the sound of his boot on the floor, it was the kitchen, cool tile spreading across an area he could dimly make out to be larger than even an excessively sized bathroom. Found the light switch, clicked it on. Nothing. He focused, closing his eyes despite the darkness, and realised he couldn’t hear the hum of a fridge, or frankly, any of the normal sounds of a working house. “Goddamn it.”

Just as Bucky turned, ready to kick something before calling Sam, there was a knock on the front door. He froze, mind quickly running through the possibilities. Maybe a neighbour had seen him arrive? It was late, but if there was something street-wide like a power cut, someone could be here to warn him about it. Theoretically, no one was supposed to know he was here except his editor, the real estate agent, and a couple of people within the publishing house. So a fan, or a critic, or a journalist? Unlikely.

Bucky took a breath, shaky, and focused on keeping it even as he let it out. He left the kitchen, good hand dragging along the wall as he headed back to the front door. The knock sounded again, and he swore under his breath, picking up the pace a little and promptly kicking a _stupid_ hall table. Swearing, this time aloud, he clutched at his shin, hopping a little to keep himself upright as he rubbed at the spot.

A voice filtered through the door, sounding concerned. “Are you okay? Sorry I didn’t mean to spook you.” It sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it, and wasn’t exactly trying very hard considering the pain sparking through his shin.

Bucky growled under his breath, got his foot back on the ground, and started for the door again, calling out, “I’m fine.” He didn’t mean for it to come out as sharp as it did, but frankly, anyone knocking on a door after 11 pm probably deserved a bit of sharpness, even if Bucky had only just arrived himself.

He swung the door open, was greeted by a rather large, rather vague looking shadow, backlit by the street lamp. “Oh.” The stranger stepped back, shifted a little, and Bucky got a glimpse of an angled jaw, sharp nose. “Sorry about this. I was asked to come see you once you got here, to let you know. The generator for your place packed in yesterday, and they couldn’t get someone out to fix it until tomorrow, so you’ve got no power.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Bucky responded, sharp and sarcastic, and the man, and it had to be a man with a voice that deep, smooth like velvet, snorted. “Why didn’t they call me?”

“I think they were trying to get someone in today? I don’t know, real estate agents kinda freak me out.” Bucky laughed at that, surprised, and the man shook his head. “I’m serious, they’re pushy and nosy, and far too happy for their own good.” Bucky rolled his eyes and realised the other man probably couldn’t see it. “Seriously though, if you have anything that needs to go in a fridge you can use mine until someone gets out here.”

Bucky blinked at the offer, shifting from foot to foot before admitting, “Honestly unless there was stuff in the fridge already I don’t. And I’m assuming if it’s in the fridge still it’ll be bad.” There was a snort, and he could almost imagine the eye roll in return.

“Fair enough. If you need anything, even just charging ports for things, come find me. I’m the house on the left.” The man stepped back, and Bucky couldn’t help but sway forward a little, despite the fact that the last thing he wanted, or needed, was human contact. “Oh. The name’s Steve.”

At least he’d been right on that count. “Bucky,” he responded, and could almost hear the hesitation. “A childhood nickname,” he explained, and Steve let out a laugh.

“Alright then Bucky, I’ll see you around,” Steve said after a moment, before turning, almost running down the handful of stairs and heading across the yard. Bucky blinked, staring after the man as the streetlight revealed a little bit more about his late night visitor. He was big, Bucky had realised that one already, and broad, with hair cropped close at the back of his head and a walk that belied confidence and comfort.

Bucky tore his gaze away, taking a deep breath, then letting it out. “Alright,” he said to himself, digging in his pocket for his phone and opening the brightest app he could find to use as a torch, like he should have done in the first place, in retrospect. He turned on his heel, closing the front door behind him, and started down the hall.

 

*

 

The first door was the kitchen he’d stumbled into, and he left it be for now, searching out a bedroom he could sleep in until an irrational time of day. The second room was a living area, the third a large bathroom, and around a corner at the end of a second hallway, he found the bedroom. Bucky hefted his phone a little higher, frowning as he saw the large bed completely unmade, without even a pile of sheets on top. “You’re fucking with me,” he mumbled, crossing the room to walk around the bed. There still weren’t any sheets, and his frown deepened as he realised he’d have to go hunting in the cupboards to find some - if there were even any in the house.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, unable to keep it in, swinging a leg and kicking the base of the bed. “Stupid fucking piece of shit trip, should never have fucking come.” He covered his face with his hands, took a breath, let it out slowly. Another. Pushing his hands up, Bucky dragged his fingers through his hair before tugging lightly at the strands. It was too late to call his editor, too late to call the agent, too late to do anything about the situation at hand.

He had two options. Go searching in the cupboards with his phone as his only light, then try to get the sheets on and a duvet in place so he could sleep, or go next door.

Bucky clenched his fingers in his hair, then grabbed his phone off the bed, making a decision. He headed back down the hall, grabbing his bags as he went, and locked up behind him, before marching across the yard. He paused at the top of the little path, staring up at the house in front of him, before steeling himself and heading for the door. He paused again, took in a breath, let it out slowly as he knocked his knuckles against the hardwood.

As soon as the door started to open, he put on his best smile, pretty sure it didn’t reach his eyes and hoping the house was dark enough to hide it. No such luck, the wood opening to leak a pool of light onto the step, a mildly amused looking Steve standing in the doorway. “That was quick,” he said with a grin, and Bucky briefly forgot what he had to say.

“So, uh. You will _not_ believe the day I’ve had.” Bucky started, and it took about half a second for Steve to realise that something was wrong, and take in the bags over Bucky’s shoulders. “I promise I’m not like... A serial killer or something, but I was wondering if you had a spare couch and a willingness to let a stranger sleep on it for the night.” He cut himself short, catching the slight waver in his voice and Steve’s face softened just a little.

“I think I can handle it even if you were,” Steve responded, but he sounded cautious, and Bucky mentally kicked himself, blinked a few times. Steve didn’t move out of the doorway.

“I’m from Indiana. My bag ended up on a different plane and now it’s like a five-hour drive away and I’m not getting it back ‘til tomorrow at the earliest. The rental place gave my car out so I had to wait nearly an hour to get that sorted, my house is out of power, I haven’t eaten since like eleven this morning, I can’t find any bed linen and I’m about _this_ close-” Bucky’s voice cracked, and he snapped his mouth shut, glaring at a wrinkle in Steve’s shirt instead of actually looking at the man he was asking for help. Was asking to let a literal _stranger_ into his _house_ , God what was he _thinking_ -

“Bucky, hey.” Bucky blinked, looking up at the soft words, and had to clamp his mouth shut at the look on Steve’s face. “C’mon. I’ll get you something to eat then get the spare room ready, okay?” Before he could react, there was a hand on his shoulder, and he was being guided into the warm house. Steve kept nudging his shoulder so Bucky kept walking, let himself be steered to a living room. “Sit, I’ll make something. Are you allergic to anything?”

Bucky shook his head, trying to pull himself back together, then said "no," as clearly as he could when he realised Steve wasn't looking. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment where the only noise was the rattling of something in the drawer Steve was in front of. Just to fill the silence with _something_.

"What for?" Steve asked.

He wasn't sure if Steve was more confused or insulted, and he quickly backtracked. "For imposing, waking you up- keeping you awake, I mean. Surely you've got better things to do. Like... sleep."

He glanced over at Steve again, who was mid-shrug. "Nah, it's nothing. I promise."

"You wouldn't tell me though, even if it was something," Bucky mumbled, not really intending for Steve to hear it.

"I have a friend, back in the city," Steve said as he pulled something out of the drawer and set it on the bench, then went to another cupboard. He emerged with a skillet before continuing, and Bucky had to cut back the snide remark that immediately sprung to his lips.

"I have this friend. Spend a lot of time with her, she's one of the best people I know. Even when she denies it." The click of the skillet being set on the stove, a couple of beeps. The crack of eggshells. "She's always honest with me when it comes to.... _me_."

That made Bucky raise his eyebrows, shifting in his chair so he could actually look at Steve. "But not in other situations?"

"It's part of her job, the rest. Now shush, let me finish." It wasn't said patronisingly, or even meanly, and that was why Bucky did as he was told, shutting his yap for the man making him omelettes at what felt like three in the morning.

"She always tells me, 'Steve, you're a good person, but I don't know why anyone calls you polite.' And she's right - I might have been brought up in-" a pause, Steve's hands visibly stilling over the bowl he'd been working in. "-a family that had an old way of doing things. Traditional. But God knows I've never been polite."

Bucky snorted at that, leaning back a little in the chair, and he cradled his left wrist with his other hand, gently rubbing at it. “You let me into your house in the middle of the night-” he started, but Steve cut him off with a smile over his shoulder.

“That’s probably closer to stupidity than anything else,” Steve retorted, and that almost, _almost_ , had him laughing. Steve turned back to the stove after that, and Bucky looked at his hands.

It was silent between them again, just the pop and crackle of whatever Steve was cooking. Bucky let himself drift a little, mind wandering back to what he was there for, the document on his laptop that had a chapter title and little else.

As if reading his mind, Steve came over to the table, setting a plate in front of him before asking, “So, what brings you out here?”

Bucky started a little, jumping in his seat, before looking down at the plate, at the omelette piled high on it. “Um,” he said intelligently, taking the cutlery being waved at him. “Work, mainly,” he said after a second, hesitating with the cutlery before foregoing the knife and using the fork to cut a chunk out of the omelette. “I’m a writer. My editor sent me out here, thought I’d get more done if I was away from distraction.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, thankfully not mentioning Bucky’s odd method of eating. “Your editor must think pretty highly of you,” he said instead, and Bucky shrugged a little as he took a mouthful of food. Then Bucky was too busy to respond, the taste of food reminding him of how long it had been since he’d eaten, and he was quickly shovelling the omelette into his mouth with as little grace as possible.

Finally remembering to swallow, Bucky took a breath, looking up at Steve’s amused face. “It’s been a long day,” he defended himself in a mumble, and Steve just grinned at him. “Uh. My editor’s a close friend anyway, he managed to swing it for me. The publishers don’t really care as long as I meet my deadline.”

“What publishing house?” Steve asked, leaning forward in what was hopefully actual curiosity.

But, he couldn’t answer, or Sam would have his hide. “I can’t answer that,” he said with a slight smile. “It’d kinda defeat the purpose of ‘getting away’ if I told everyone who I work for.” He set the fork down on the empty plate carefully, wincing a little at the loud clink it made against the ceramic. “Thank you for this, by the way,” he added, looking at the plate then up at Steve. “Both for the food and for giving me a place to crash.”

“It’s really no problem,” Steve said, standing and taking the plate before Bucky could make a move to. The plate was in the sink and Steve was halfway out the door before Bucky even thought to react, and by the time he was on his feet, Steve was speaking over his shoulder. “I’m just going to make sure the spare room is made up, then I’ll let you get some rest,” he said, before nodding towards the wall, supposedly indicating a room beyond. “You can wait in the living room, you don’t need to stick around in here. I won’t be long,” he added before disappearing.

Bucky tracked the footsteps up the hall, tipping his head slightly as he did, before looking at the sink. His plate and cutlery sat in there, as well as a handful of glasses and mugs waiting to be cleaned. He glanced at the door again, hesitating, before standing, poking around under the sink until he found what he needed, and rolling his sleeves up.

By the time Steve returned Bucky had washed the dishes he could find and cleaned the sink area while he was at it. He was just pulling his sleeves down when he heard an almost amused voice behind him.

“Really?”

Bucky whirled around, tugging his sleeve down over his hand as he backed himself into the sink with a strangled yelp. He relaxed almost immediately as he processed that it was actually Steve, then he shook his head slightly. “Shit,” he said, still sounding a little tense, relief washing through him as Steve didn’t even look at his hands. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, sounding mostly unapologetic, and Bucky snorted at that. “You didn’t have to,” Steve added, waving a hand at the sink, the neatly stacked dishes on the drying rack.

Bucky shrugged, moving away from the sink and rubbing his hip, where he’d clipped the bench. “Least I could do,” he mumbled. Steve sighed, shaking his head slightly, but at least he still looked amused and not annoyed. Meaning Bucky still probably had a place to sleep.

“I told you,” Steve said, gesturing for Bucky to follow, “It’s no big deal. The spare room is ready now.” He turned, heading back down the hallway, and Bucky rushed to pick up his bags and follow.

Steve pressed a hand against a door as they walked past, the hardwood swinging open a touch. “Bathroom is in there, and I’m at the end of the hall, on the left,” he said before stopping at a door halfway down. “Here,” he said, sounding awkward for the first time all night. “Let me know if you need anything?”

Bucky nodded, grip flexing on his bag, resolving himself to waking early, leaving before he could be any more of an annoyance. “I will,” he replied. He wouldn’t. “Thank you,” he added, actually meaning it. He took a step into the room, getting a look at it before turning, wide-eyed, to look at Steve. “This is your spare room?”

Steve grinned, stepping away from the doorframe. “You’re just gonna have to believe me on that one,” he said before turning and walking down the hall. He paused at the door that supposedly led to his own room. “Goodnight, Bucky,” he said, glancing back before disappearing through the door.

“Goodnight,” Bucky replied, the rest of what he wanted to say drying up as Steve disappeared. It was probably for the better, probably why Steve had made such a hasty exit. Biting his lip he turned back to the room he’d been given for the night.

And it was ridiculous, really. The room itself was large, roomy, with a massive bed sitting in the middle. But it was the little things that had him hesitating. The picture frame on the dresser – the fact that there was a dresser there at all – looked too personal to be sitting in a spare room. Bucky didn’t look, just turned it face down, unwilling to pry even though he was curious – _God_ he was curious. There were… _things_ littered around the various surfaces of the room as well, a trinket here, a pen and empty notepad there, an empty glass on the nightstand, which made it feel like Steve had either been in this room recently or had recently entertained guests.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head slightly, and set his bag down on the end of the bed. His laptop went on the nightstand, along with his pill bottles, then he was heading to the bathroom to take out his contacts.

Once he’d fumbled his way back to bed he checked his phone, wincing at the bright light of it. 1:30 A.M. Honestly he’d expected worse. He locked the screen and set it on the nightstand before stripping down to his boxers and sliding between the sheets. They were crisp, smooth, and the mattress was softer than he was used to. Still, within seconds of his head touching the pillow, he was asleep.

 

*

 

The ringing of a phone startled Bucky out of sleep, cutting through the air and making him blink blearily. The room was still dark, and what little light was creeping under the curtains didn’t really help Bucky place where he was. His phone fell silent as he fumbled around the nightstand, nearly knocking his contact case off the damned thing before he closed his hand around his glasses case. Seeing clearly didn’t help overly much, the room completely unfamiliar. He looked around, trying to place _something_ in it before his phone startled him by ringing again.

He grabbed it first try this time, answering it without checking the caller ID, or the time. He answered with a tired mumble, barely registering the panic on Sam’s voice as he said sharply, _“Where are you?”_

“Uhh,” Bucky answered, yawning into the phone, and Sam made a noise of disgust. “What time s’it?” He mumbled, yawning again, before finally sitting up.

_“Eleven. Which means the electrician has already been and gone, and he called to say you weren’t there.”_

Oh. Right.

Bucky groaned softly, rubbing his face. “Lotta shit happened, so Steve let me crash at his,” he said, which didn’t seem to help the situation much.

_“Who the flying fuck is Steve and why are you sleeping with him?”_

Bucky spluttered, that comment waking him up like water in the face. “No, shit. He’s the neighbour that told me the power was out. I didn’t feel like making the bed at midnight without any light, and he had a spare room.”

There was silence at the other end of the line for a few minutes, then Sam sighed. _“Fine. The power’s back on now, so you can head back when you’re actually awake.”_

“I am awake,” Bucky protested, before yawning again, and Sam snickered. “Sorta.”

Sam hesitated, which made Bucky wary, but then all Sam said was, _“Enjoy the break, Bucky,”_ before hanging up.

Bucky waited until he could hear the dial tone, then let his phone fall into his lap, bracing his hands on the bed under him. He sighed, sagging back a little, before pushing the covers down and standing. It was time to face the music – or, the overly friendly neighbour.

He made his way into the living area after brushing his teeth and covering up to find Steve sitting on the couch, a book precariously balanced between one hand and his knee. He was looking up before Bucky had even fully passed through the door, throwing a smile over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, the look on his face making Bucky feel more than a little self-conscious. “You’re up.”

Bucky winced a little at that, shrugging a shoulder and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was more tired than I thought. I’ll get out of your hair now,”

Steve seemed… surprised at Bucky’s words, setting his book aside and standing, the spine so well-worn that it stayed open on the page Steve had been reading. “Hey, no, that’s not what I meant,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, the pods for the Keurig are on the shelf above it.”

Sufficiently distracted by the promise of coffee Bucky nodded, wordlessly retreating into the hall to get to the kitchen. By the time he had a mug in his hands Steve had reappeared, leaning against the doorframe and looking like he had questions to ask but wasn’t sure where to start with them. Bucky cut him off before he could start. “So,” he said, mug cradled in his hands. “Do you live out here all the time, or is this just a vacation home?”

Steve snorted. “Would you believe I’m on forced vacation?” He asked with a smile, staying right where he was.

“Uhh,” Bucky said intelligently in response. “What do you mean by _forced_ vacation?”

“I mean I work with a bunch of people who think I’m working too hard, and instead of doing something normal they blackmailed me into coming out here for a month.”

Bucky blinked, then looked at Steve warily. “You must be pretty important then, for them to do that.” And in saying that, Steve did look even more familiar than before, the natural light doing much more for him than the harsh overhead lights from the previous night. Bucky couldn’t quite place it though, why Steve did, where he thought he knew Steve from.

As if sensing his thoughts Steve ducked his head, shrugging a little, pretty obviously deflecting. “They’re friends as much as colleagues. More so, even. So it was a favour for a friend more than anything.”

Bucky hummed, not sure whether Steve was telling him everything, but it wasn’t like Steve owed him the truth. Especially considering Bucky hadn’t been completely transparent either. “That was nice of them,” he said instead, and Steve’s laughter made him furrow his brow in confusion.

“It’s nice in theory,” Steve explained, finally leaving his perch against the doorframe to sit at the table opposite Bucky. “They all know damned well that they need me, and they know that all I do when I’m bored is get in trouble.” He said the last with a grin, but again it didn’t look like he was saying what he meant. Instead of prying, Bucky took a sip of his coffee.

“What is there to do around here?” Bucky asked once he’d swallowed, thumb rubbing back and forth against the ceramic, the heat of the mug sinking through his gloves to warm his fingers. “Surely it’s not all sitting around?”

Steve shrugged, smiling a little. “Honestly, not that much. Sometimes I head out into town, there’s a little more out there, but it’s still a pretty quiet area,” he said. “Not a lot of people around, so there’s not a lot of things to do. It’ll pick up soon apparently, with kids finishing up school for the year.”

“Ugh,” Bucky replied, resting his forehead against the rim of his mug. “Explains why they sent me out here then. Might actually finish something for once,” he mumbled. Obviously not quietly enough, because Steve responded by laughing.

“Sounds like they’ve got your number alright,” Steve retorted, before looking at his watch. “I’m sorry to do this to you, but I have to run into town to pick something up and they close soon.”

Bucky startled a little bit at the reminder, straightening up and setting his empty mug down. “God, of course, I’m so sorry I’ve kept you,” he said as he stood, took his mug to the sink to wash it out.

Steve stood as well, walking over and gently pulling the mug out of Bucky’s hand. “It’s cool, don’t worry about it,” he said gently, setting it in the sink. “And seriously, I wasn’t about to leave you out in the dark.”

Pursing his lips a little, Bucky turned to face Steve fully, looking at him for a second. “Okay,” he said instead of arguing. “Thank you, again.” Never let it be said that Bucky Barnes didn’t know when he was beaten.

Steve looked pleased with that, but didn’t move, didn’t give Bucky any chance to do his own damned dishes anyway, so Bucky stepped back, headed up the hall to the guest room. In a moment of pettiness, he made the bed fully, pulling each corner military-neat before fluffing the pillows and packing his bag.

 

*

 

His bag arrived the day afterwards, an apologetic letter from the airline tucked in the side pocket. He flicked a text to Sam to let him know, then unpacked, showering with his own stuff for the first time in two days, which was far too long in his opinion.

 

*

 

A week later, and he hadn’t seen much of his apparently-reclusive neighbour. He’d heard him a couple of times – the clatter of a porch fly guard, the soft hum of a garage door, the roar of something that a peek out the front window revealed to be an all-too-large Harley Davidson.

There was plenty of evidence he’d been nearby though. A knock on his front door had gone unanswered on his third day by the lake, Bucky deep in the middle of a chapter. His muse hadn’t let him go until almost an hour later, but he’d checked the door anyway, not sure what to expect. Whatever it was, he hadn’t been expecting the covered casserole dish sitting on his doorstep. He’d taken it inside, wary, but when he’d opened it he’d found an actual casserole, and a bit of notepaper with a heavy-handed scrawl on it.

_Overestimated how hungry I was. Hope this isn’t too weird – S_

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh then, and once he’d finished the dish a few days later he’d scrawled a returning note and filled it with freshly baked banana bread. Once the roar of the Harley had faded, Steve on his way out, Buck had crossed the yards, leaving the dish on Steve’s doorstep and going back to his laptop.

 

*

 

It wasn’t until eight days into his enforced lakeside exile that he actually was close enough to speak to Steve again. Namely, because Steve had appeared out of nowhere in the unfenced backyard, startling Bucky enough that he nearly fell out of his deck chair. Before Steve could say anything he tugged his ever-present jacket closed over his chest, hopefully before Steve had noticed anything awry.

“I’m surprised you haven’t melted yet,” is how Steve chose to open the conversation, waving a big hand towards the jersey. Bucky just raised an eyebrow in return, daring Steve to say anything further. He did, either oblivious or uncaring. “Accident with superglue leave you a sheep for life or something?”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder, the excitement at seeing Steve again getting overshadowed by discomfort. “Where I go, it goes,” he said instead, trying to play along at least a little.

“For the aesthetic?” Steve asked, helping himself to the other deck chair and stretching back, seemingly comfortable in ways Bucky wasn’t.

Bucky mimicked him without thinking, leaning back and kicking his legs out in front of him again. “Something like that,” he said after a second, which made Steve shrug.

Steve didn’t push, didn’t comment, putting him on a very short list of people who hadn’t. All of the others Bucky had become close friends with, so, maybe it was a sign. Or maybe Steve was just a decent person.

A decent person helping himself to the block of chocolate sitting near Bucky’s arm on the chair. “Hey!” he said, not really meaning it but more protesting just to protest.

Steve grinned around the piece he put in his mouth, evidently changing his mind on his seating situation and dropping to sit cross-legged near Bucky’s feet. “Getting much done?” He asked around the chocolate, and Bucky relented, sliding the block to the end of the arm so it was in Steve’s reach again. “You looked pretty deeply focused.”

“And you decided to bother me?” Bucky said with a little smile, closing his laptop with a click and setting it aside. When Steve just shrugged he scratched the back of his head. “A little. More than I was, but I keep getting stuck and ending up in the never-ending research spiral which is delaying things a little.

Steve propped his elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, staring up at Bucky in interest. “Research into what? You still haven’t told me anything about what you write,” he said, something in his voice indicating he was giving Bucky an out.

A soft sigh escaped him, and then he caved, just a little. “It’s part of a series, urban fantasy. I’ve got the core plot already, had to submit the outline for this part a while ago. It’s the little things I’m tripping on, the age of a city, history of a certain type of music,” he waved a hand. “That sort of thing. It hasn’t quite gotten to the stage where things just… happen.”

Steve gave him a considering look, one corner of his mouth tipping up into a smile that Bucky shouldn’t have been staring hard enough to notice. He tore his eyes up, cleared his throat. “What,” he said when Steve just smiled at him. “What’s that look for?”

Steve smiled a little wider, and it looked good on him, brightening up his face, eyes crinkling a little at the edges. “Nothing,” he said, clearly lying. “I just think I’ve read your book.”

Blinking, Bucky hesitated, then shook his head a little. “I told you nothing, how could you possibly know?”

“You talk like you write,” Steve said after a second, making Bucky flush a little.

“Annoying and circular?” Bucky retorted, an eyebrow going up. “Or are we talking about the incoherence? Or the fact that I don’t know when to shut up?”

That had Steve laughing, a full head-thrown-back belly laugh. Bucky couldn’t help but smile in response. “No,” Steve said once he’d calmed enough to speak, mirth still written all over his face. “There’s something about it that I can’t put my finger on. The rhythm is the same?”

Bucky shrugged, leaning to the side as he set his laptop down on the grass. “What is it then, if you think you’re so smart?” He asked, teasing note in his voice that he hoped Steve picked up.

“Christ,” Steve said, and Bucky couldn’t help himself.

“Nope, try again.”

Steve stared at him for a second, two, and then he was laughing again, almost falling backwards before he evidently gave in, let gravity take him back into the grass. “Okay, I deserved that,” he said after a minute before shaking his head, which had landed somewhere even with Bucky’s elbow. “I can’t put my finger on it, I can see what happens though,” he continued, tapping his forehead. “Watch this space.”

Bucky had to struggle to not take him literally, instead he pulled his gaze away from Steve and looking out over the lake. Steve was silent at his side for a moment before saying, tone a little more serious, “You don’t want me to know.”

Bucky’s lips tightened a little, before he sighed, sagging back in his chair. He didn’t look at Steve, could feel the man’s eyes on him. “It’s easier when people don’t know. Then they think they know me, or think they get a free pass on a lot of things or start making demands. It’s not you, specifically, it’s…” he sighed again, heavy. “Just easier, I guess.”

He felt movement at his side, glanced over to see Steve sitting up, leaning in a little closer. After the briefest of hesitations, he patted Bucky’s arm lightly, reassuring. “I know the feeling, it’s hard. I won’t say anything though, promise.”

Bucky stared at him for a second, unsure – but, something niggling at the back of his mind insisted, he did feel like he knew Steve from somewhere. He just couldn’t place it. He can’t have been the only one.

“You better not,” he said after a second, attempting a smile and hoping it didn’t look as sharp as it felt. “If my editor found out I’d never live it down.”

Steve laughed but didn’t respond, flopping back down onto the grass. After a few minutes of silence, Bucky opened his mouth, struggling to word what he wanted to ask but eventually just going for it. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but did you come over for something? Random drop-ins don’t really seem like the in thing out here.”

He glanced over to see Steve smiling up at him, so he hoped that was a good sign. “Yeah,” Steve answered, lifting his chin a little. “Wanted to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner. It’s a nice night, I was going to fire up the grill.”

That caught Bucky out, and he just blinked, staring at Steve for a second before he managed to get out an answer. “I have to finish this chapter-” Steve looked dejected, just for a second, and he was already hiding the reaction as Bucky kept talking. “- but I should be able to get done by six? At least enough to keep the dreaded editor happy,” he offered, hopeful.

“That works,” Steve said, staying exactly where he was but smiling again, no trace of the disappointment that had flickered across it. “Don’t bring anything, I’ve got It sorted,” he continued before Bucky could ask, smiling winningly up at him before he could protest. “I’m serious,” he said, pointing a finger up at Bucky. “Don’t bring a single thing except yourself.”

He looked like he was waiting for an acknowledgement, so Bucky scowled, hoping Steve could tell it was mostly a joke, and said, “Fine,” not planning on doing anything of the sort. Steve seemed sceptical before pushing himself upright, then standing. He towered over Bucky, who just tipped his head back to look at Steve’s face.

“Just come over when you’re ready,” Steve said as he started to walk backwards, towards the fence between their properties. He didn’t turn until Bucky nodded, and once he did he was gone quickly, disappearing around the corner of Bucky’s rental.

 

*

 

At a quarter to seven, Bucky was knocking on Steve’s door, bag in hand. He’d tried to clean up, make himself look somewhat presentable, but he’d tried not to go overboard. By the look on Steve’s face when he answered the door, he’d cleaned up well.

“Hey,” Steve said, stepping aside to let Bucky in. “That chapter take longer than you thought?” There was a teasing note in Steve’s voice, and Bucky rubbed the back of his head with a hand, before shrugging a shoulder.

“Something like that,” he said sheepishly, not about to tell Steve that he’d stood in front of the closet for nearly fifteen minutes trying to work out what he could wear that didn’t scream “old man” or “out to get laid”. He shifted his bag to his shoulder so he could pass, and saw Steve’s eyes narrow in on it.

“What did I say,” Steve said, likely attempting to sound annoyed but ending up a weird mix of annoyed and amused. “About bringing things?”

“Shut up and accept the cake,” Bucky said as he walked towards one of the few rooms in Steve’s house that he actually knew. He set his bag on the kitchen table, pulling out the sealed container and leaving it on the bench before he crammed a bottle of juice in the fridge, hoping he could get done before Steve caught him.

“I saw that,” Steve spoke up from in the doorway, and Bucky just shrugged, trying to pretend he wasn’t blushing. “I told you I had everything covered.”

“I don’t drink,” Bucky said in response, shifting his bag so it hung off the back of one of the chairs, empty. He tugged his sleeves back down in a habitual gesture, “so I usually bring stuff for myself. People tend to forget to cover all bases.”

Steve hesitated as he crossed the room to stand in front of Bucky, before he asked, “Do you mind if others..?” He trailed off as Bucky shook his head.

“Nope, go ahead. It just reacts with my medication,” Bucky said with another shrug, patting Steve’s arm lightly. It was supposed to be reassuring but didn’t really stay that way. After a second he realised he was just sort of touching Steve’s arm and pulled his hand back, face heating up. Steve smiled, though there was something in his expression that Bucky couldn’t place, making him not so much nervous as expectant, slightly off-kilter. Steve didn’t do anything more though, just tipped his head towards the kitchen door.

“Did you want to head outside?” Steve asked, stepping around Bucky to pull a tray out of the fridge. “Sun’s started to set, but it’s going to be a nice night.” Bucky nodded, heading down the hall as Steve called out, “Just go through the living room!”

Bucky did, before freezing as he got a glimpse of the book sitting on the coffee table, placed in such a way that made Bucky think he was supposed to notice it. It was familiar like no other cover would be, and he paused by it, picking up the paperback and running his thumb over the embossed title. God, but he’d felt on top of the world when he’d first had it in his hands, had first held the product of years of work.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned, holding the book up slightly so Steve could see it. Steve looked almost nervous when he saw what Bucky was holding, which was weird considering he’d put it somewhere Bucky was bound to see it.

“Told you I’d read it,” Steve said after a second, recovering with a grace that Bucky envied. “Is it the sequel you’re working on?”

Bucky nodded slightly, looking back at the book in his hands and opening it to a random page. He skimmed a few sentences, then snapped it shut, setting it back on the table. “Yeah, a few people are due their happy endings.”

Steve seemed pleased with that, and after a second Bucky continued towards the glass doors, emerging on a large patio. “That’s your first novel, right?”

Bucky nodded, glancing around before dropping into a chair that didn’t have a drink beside it, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Yeah. I’ve had a few short stories published, but they were all before-” he cut himself off with a snap as Steve set the tray he’d been holding down next to the grill.

“Before you served?” Steve finished for him, making Bucky stare at him in disbelief. Before he could say anything, ask _how_ , Steve said, “You’ve got that look about you. Plus, it’s on your wiki page.”

That had Bucky blinking in surprise. “You read that?” he asked, incredulous, and Steve smiled innocently. “That’s hardly fair, you know all about me and I don’t even know your last name!”

“Rogers.”

Well. That had been surprisingly easy. Bucky couldn’t help but grin, leaning forward a little and saying, “Mister Rogers huh? _You always make each day a special day_ ,” he sing-songed before something else occurred to him. Steve was staring at him, expectant, only slightly smiling, and Bucky realised there was something more to it than he’d originally guessed.

It only took a minute with Steve looking at him like that, as Bucky chased the rabbit that was a niggling memory. “No, you’re not..?”

Steve shrugged, expression a lot more closed than it had been. “Yeah, I am.”

Bucky clinked, staring at Steve, trying to fit what he knew about _Steve_ against what he knew about the literal superhero, _Captain America_. Eventually, he shook his head slightly. “You look good for an old man.”

Surprised laughter at that, Steve had obviously been expecting something completely different. “Thanks, I think,” He responded, as Bucky felt himself turning red again.

“Uhh. I mean…” He started, but Steve shook his head, still laughing.

“Pretty spry for an old guy,” Steve said with a grin, before adding, “That’s why I didn’t tell you. But fair is fair, I knew who you were.”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder, cheeks still warm, before he said, “I didn’t think you superhero types were… like this.”

There was tension between them, just the beginning notes of it. Steve seemed worried about what Bucky was going to say, was trying to hide it, and wasn’t doing too well. “Like what?” he asked cautiously. Bucky jammed his mouth shut, already regretting the whole speaking thing. But Steve was expecting an answer, and Bucky was going to give it to him.

“Like… he hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “This. Regular guys doing regular things, shooting the shit over beer and stealing chocolate from neighbours and making casserole. Especially the casserole.”

Steve seemed to sag a little on his feet, hunching over the grill as though he’d expected something else. In retrospect, he probably had. Bucky was just an author and he’d had his fair share of intrusive questions, patronising comments, the whole nine yards. Steve was a verifiable goddamned superhero, and one who, even though Bucky had been completely oblivious, had an incredibly recognisable face. Shit.

“The casserole was my ma’s recipe,” Steve said into the increasingly awkward silence. “Well, most of it is. Had to make some changes over the years.”

“Like what?” Bucky asked, not sure how Steve would react. He probably got asked about the past, day after day and week after week. He expected a rebuff or a vague answer. Instead, Steve’s eyes lit up, and he turned a little on the spot to face Bucky.

Beer bottle limp in his free hand, Steve got the meat on the grill, waiting for the initial hiss to die down before saying, “So many ingredients have changed. Things don’t taste the same as they did, probably for the better. So many new herbs, spices, things I could never have dreamed of as a kid. A big part of it is trial and error, I throw something that smells good in, and it doesn’t always work out.”

“Are you telling me,” Bucky says, unable to keep the smile off his face at Steve’s enthusiasm. “That I was a guinea pig?” It was impossible not to react to Steve, to the way he was talking, the freedom in his voice. It was then that Bucky realised how much Steve had been holding back before, even just in conversation.

Steve smiled, winked, and turned back to the grill, leaving Bucky suddenly reeling. Because sure, he’d had the thought before, he’d noticed how damned attractive Steve was. Everything about him had part of Bucky interested, from the glint in his eye when he was teasing, to the soft curve of his mouth when he was surprised by something good, to the way he held himself, confident and careful. Which made sense now, in retrospect - care was required if you could bench a car without breaking a sweat. But before, before his attraction was just to a regular, if a little eccentric, man who was staying in the house next door.

Steve wasn’t that. Well, wasn’t _just_ that. Steve was also a real-life superhero. A real-life _hero_ , one Bucky had, in all honesty, idolised as a kid. Had crushed on as a kid, even - but then again, who hadn’t?

Steve was beautiful, larger than life, and so goddamned out of Bucky’s league that he might as well put his dumb attraction to the man out of his mind. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if Bucky wasn’t half head-over-heels for the guy already.

Shit.

Steve, to his credit, seemed completely oblivious to Bucky’s minor internal meltdown. He turned the meat, glanced over his shoulder, and said, “Hey Buck, would you mind grabbing the salads out of the fridge?” The smile on his face was honest, sweet in a way that Bucky wasn’t entirely sure he deserved considering the direction of his thoughts.

He nodded though, pushing himself upright and heading into the house again with a quiet, “Sure.” Hopefully, it’d give him a brief moment to work out what the hell he was going to do.

By the time he’d returned, bowls in hand, he still didn’t have any real idea of what he was going to do about his Steve Problem. Steve, on the other hand, had spent the time somewhat more productively, finishing up with the grill and setting the meat on the patio table with the rest of the stuff.

“Hey, there you are,” Steve said as Bucky stepped through the door, face lighting up as if Bucky were the best thing he’d seen. In all honesty, it was probably the salad bowls, Bucky reminded himself. “Get lost?”

“Snooping,” Bucky said as calmly as he could. “For someone in his nineties, you must be travelling pretty light.” He wasn’t about to admit that he’d spent most of what had apparently been a substantial amount of time pacing in the kitchen, trying to think about something, _anything_ , that wasn’t the way Steve had smiled at him, the way it had made something in his stomach clench in a way that really, _really_ made his plan to ignore all attraction all the more difficult.

“I didn’t bring all of my belongings with me for a vacation,” Steve said with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve always travelled light.”

Bucky pouted overdramatically, making Steve laugh, and ignored the twist in his stomach at the sound as he crossed to the table. “How on earth am I supposed to snoop if you don’t bring stuff with you?” He asked, drawing more laughter from Steve.

“You can just ask, y’know,” Steve said as he sat on one of the bench seats, patted the spot next to him in invitation. Bucky climbed in before he could second-guess himself, one knee knocking lightly against Steve’s as he settled. God but Steve was going to make it hard for him.

“That’s less fun,” Bucky retorted, shifting a little so there was space between them.

Steve seemed to take that as a challenge, knees spreading until they were touching again. Shit.

“That’s fair,” Steve said as he started to pile food on his plate. “But it’s also your only real option so, ask away.” He almost immediately shoved a bread roll in his mouth, so Bucky just let out a short laugh, filling his plate while waiting for him to chew.

You’re ridiculous,” he said, and Steve bumped their knees together, on purpose that time. “What was it like?”

When Steve just raised an eyebrow, still chewing, Bucky reconsidered his question, clarified. “What was it like before the war? For you, I mean.”

After a minute Steve managed to clear his mouth, asking, “Didn’t cover that in history class?”

Bucky shrugged. “Fell asleep in history class a lot. Most of it was bullshit anyway, rewritten to make it seem like there was nothing wrong with America, that everything we touched didn’t turn to shit.”

It took him a minute to realise he’d just said that to the literal embodiment of the American dream, and he froze, but Steve just laughed quietly, nodded. “Hasn’t changed much since I went through it then,” Steve said with a shrug. “It was… quiet, I guess. We struggled, but so did everyone else. I’m told that the whole world changed for the worse after the war, but I can’t really speak from experience. Wasn’t as hot though, and that’s saying something.”

Bucky snorted as he shoved a mouthful of salad in his mouth, then shrugged a shoulder. “It’s honestly been war after war since then,” he said, a little sharper than he’d really intended. “You didn’t miss much.”

Steve’s smile turned a little sad at that. “Yeah, I figured as much,” he said quietly, reaching over and tapping Bucky’s wrist lightly. It would have been innocent, probably could have been passed off as such, apart from the fact that it was Bucky’s left arm.

Almost instinctively he pulled it back, glancing at his hand to make sure – but no, there was no clothing slip, no glint of silver around the sweater cuff. His glove hadn’t shifted in the slightest. But, Steve had to have felt it, had to have known _something_. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have done it.

Feeling slightly ill, Bucky dropped his hand to his lap, keeping it out of sight, as if that’d put it out of mind. Steve had a look on his face that Bucky couldn’t decipher, so instead, he opened his mouth to change the subject. Steve spoke first, as if nothing had happened, as if Bucky hadn’t said a word, hadn’t revealed his cards a round too early.

“Some things were definitely better though,” he said, turning back to his plate. “Our bananas actually tasted like fruit, for one.”

Bucky couldn’t stop the snicker that escaped him and he brought his hand up, covering his mouth before saying, “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, twisting on the bench, knee coming up into the space between them and bumping against Bucky’s hip lightly. “The bananas you have now are different. Our ones died out or something because of course, the good ones are the first to go,” he clarified. “That’s why banana flavour tastes weird – it tastes like our bananas did, not like yours do.”

Bucky blinked, tipping his head up a little to stare at Steve. “No shit,” he said, impressed, leaning his elbow on the table while he kept his left hand securely in his lap. “Any more random facts you got hidden up there?” He asked, tipping his chin up at Steve’s head.

Steve grinned, raised an eyebrow. “I guess you’ll have to find out,” he replied, before shoving a piece of lettuce in Bucky’s mouth as he opened it to complain.

 

*

 

It felt like hours later, when they were sitting out on the lawn, that Bucky sighed, breaking the easy silence between them. “I feel like I should tell you something,” he said quietly, gut twisting at the thought. Steve had been so open with him that it almost felt wrong to be hiding such a big thing, even though he knew that he didn’t really owe that part of him to anyone.

Something in him wanted to tell though. Tell Steve, specifically. And, part of him rationalised, maybe it’d keep the other man away, making it easier to not pine over him.

Steve had perked up a little at the first word, and now he was looking at Bucky with mild worry. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “I’m not telling you stuff to try and, I don’t know, guilt you into telling me your life story. It’s just… nice. To talk with someone who sees _Steve_ first and _Cap_ second.”

Bucky blinked, tipping himself sideways a little until their shoulders bumped together lightly. “You were Steve first,” he said with a little smile. “Plus, you swear too much to be Cap.”

Steve snickered at that, but before he could say anything Bucky continued, staying where he was, shoulder brushing Steve’s with each breath. “I’m going to tell you anyway.”

Steve stilled at that, head turning a little to look at Bucky again, and _god_ but he was so close. Bucky swallowed, looked down the hand he wasn’t propped up on. “I don’t know how much is on the damned wiki,” he started, and Steve’s smile forced him to keep going. “But it’s one thing to know it, and another thing to see it, I guess. You know I was military. Towards the end of my last tour, there was a firefight, as there can be in an active war zone.”

Steve went quiet beside him, barely breathing, and Bucky didn’t look up, kept his eyes on his hand. “I got hit, as sometimes happens. I’d been hit before, and sure it hurt like fuck, but I didn’t really think too much of it. They usually didn’t send me out in that sort of situation, it’s not what I was trained for, but they weren’t exactly overflowing with recruits.”

“So, I got hit, right-” He tipped his head to the side, pulled his collar down a little, the sunburst scar visible on his collar for a second, two. He let go. “-here. With everything happening, I didn’t realise I couldn’t feel parts of my arm until I was getting patched up. I didn’t say anything, hoped it’d go away, but once I’d healed up enough to return to rotation, I guess I just made it worse. I was sent home, looked at, but the damage had been done.” He shrugged his shoulder, almost jumped at the sudden weight of a hand on his leg, just above the knee.

“Buck,” Steve said quietly, and Bucky sighed, shrugging again. The hand on his leg squeezed, a heavy sort of comfort. It felt like Steve was holding him in his skin.

Bucky shook his head, and Steve went quiet again, but he left his hand where it was. “They tried their best. Saved what they could. But it just… died, I guess. About eight months after they brought me back here I had to get it removed.” He took a breath, steeling himself before straightening, slowly tugging the glove off his left hand before holding it up in the low light. “I was lucky, I guess. That that was all that had to be taken. That I got placed where I did, that I was in the hospital I was in. Ended up in a late-stage trial, got this thing up to the shoulder.”

Steve was silent as Bucky ran out of words, then he was pushing himself upright, turning to fully face Bucky. He reached out a hand, wordless, and when Bucky just wiggled his fingers Steve took hold of it gently, cradling it between his hands. He was so gentle with it, fingers barely brushing the metal, and it was the opposite of what Bucky wanted out of the interaction.

Fingers lightly brushed the palm, traced the edges of the tiny plates there. Bucky lifted his eyes from Steve’s hands to his face, hesitant, but Steve was staring at their hands, looking almost stunned, for lack of a better word. “It’s,” he started, trying to break the silence, but it didn’t seem like Steve was listening. He didn’t bother, relaxing his hand and letting Steve play with the fingers lightly, turn his hand over to look at the back.

“Can you feel this?” Steve asked for a second, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of Bucky’s hand. Bucky shrugged lightly, curling his fingers against Steve’s palm.

“Sort of. It’s not… feeling, like a real hand would. It’s pressure, a little heat. It took a while but I can usually work out what sort of thing I’m touching, whether it’s skin or fur or something else.”

Steve was silent for a second before he asked, “Do you like it?” When Bucky just raised an eyebrow, Steve went pink, and _Christ_ this man was making it hard. “Your arm, I mean,” he clarified, head ducking a little until all Bucky could see were the tips of his ears. Which were pink. Shit.

Fumbling his way around an answer, Bucky shrugged again, trying to get his tongue in order. “It’s better than what I had,” he said first. “Steadier, stronger, even than before. It’s hell at airports though,” he added with a little smile, and Steve let out a surprised laugh. “Have to do those special pre-screenings. The worst part is the looks people give me when they see it.”

When Steve looked at him questioningly, he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. Steve was almost absently running his fingers back and forth across Bucky’s palm. It was nice, soothing. He wondered if Steve even realised he was doing it. He hoped Steve didn’t stop.

“Pity. Sadness, like they know what I went through, like they know anything about me. Fear, sometimes. The pity’s the worst though,” he said, and Steve gripped his hand a little tighter, fingers stilling. It wasn’t completely true, though he wasn’t about to admit that to Steve. Wasn’t going to admit that the worst part was the appreciation, the barrage of _thank you for your service_ ’s that reminded him of the shithole he’d been stationed in, the things they’d made him do. But. War Hero. He wasn’t about to say that to a guy who’d given up everything for his country.

Silence fell between them as Steve just looked at him, and the nerves were creeping up Bucky’s spine, tendrils of anxiety fanning out under his skin. Before he could pull back Steve sighed quietly, cupped Bucky’s hand in both of his. “People think pity is kind. It’s the opposite,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

Bucky stiffened a little at that, bracing himself for it, but Steve just ran a finger across Bucky’s hand from heel to fingertip, making the plates shiver underneath his touch. He paused, did it again. “For telling me. Showing me. It can’t have been easy.”

“Fair is fair,” Bucky responded, shrugging a little. He didn’t pull back, and Steve didn’t let go of his hand. Still. “You might have read a wiki, but mine’s not really as extensive as yours, I think.”

Steve gave him a little smile at that, and Bucky didn’t push, didn’t ask any of the questions his middle-schooler self would have been bursting at the seams with. Just took a chance, let his hand close around Steve’s for a brief moment. Then, when Steve didn’t pull back, he didn’t move, the moment extending out as Steve looked down. After a second, Steve’s hand shifted, but the brief panic in him was put out as, slowly, Steve linked their fingers.

Neither of them said anything, but Bucky sighed softly, letting his head tip forward. Steve was the perfect height, forehead landing lightly on Steve’s shoulder. There was the briefest noise from Steve, but before Bucky could even think to be worried, he felt pressure, Steve resting his head against his.

They stayed like that as the last dregs of sunlight bled from the sky, and Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how his short-lived plan had gone so drastically wrong.

 

*

 

Steve looked quietly nervous once Bucky opened the door to him, shifting from foot to foot slowly like he couldn’t help himself. Bucky took a step back, giving him room to come in, and without thinking, held out a hand. Steve’s face lit up as he slid his hand into Bucky’s, closing the door behind him.

 

*

 

Bucky, this time. Nervous. Tugging at the ends of his hair, phone in one hand. When Steve turned back, he held it out, contact screen a silent offer. Steve didn’t hesitate, taking the phone and tapping away. After a second there was a quiet ring from Steve’s pocket, then Steve was putting Bucky’s phone on the table and sliding a hand around his waist, pulling him in.

 

*

 

His phone, buzzing again, the latest in a series of texts making his stomach drop. _Shit. Something’s come up, they’ve called me back to the city. I’ll be gone a few days, I’ll try to make it back before the end of the week_.

He hit call, his phone making an ugly noise before he hung up, laughed as Steve’s picture appeared on the screen a second later. “Why’d you text if you were going to call?” he answered the call with.

 _“Because you make me more than just a little dumb,_ ” was the answer, Steve as smooth as ever. “ _I have to pack, I wasn’t going to call. Did anyway, obviously._ ” There were rustling noises, then the sound of a zipper, and the thud of the phone hitting the bed.

“Is that your bag or are you getting ahead of yourself,” Bucky teased lightly, and there was laughter at the other end of the line, sounding further away than Steve’s voice had.

“ _You’re on speaker, I have to pack,_ ” was the not-answer, followed by more rustling.

“I thought you travelled light?” Bucky asked, closing his laptop with a snap. It was just editing anyway. Somehow he’d found the time to get through the last few chapters of his novel, leaving him now with the fun task of the first edit. “Ready to leave at a moment’s notice?”

“ _Someone,_ ” Steve started pointedly, and Bucky laughed. “ _Keeps buying me things, even though I tell him he’s wasting his time._ ”

Bucky sighed, knowing Steve didn’t mean it in the slightest. “You’re really ditching me, huh?” He said after a second of listening to Steve potter around.

Steve made a little noise, and then his voice was closer like he’d picked up the phone again. “ _Unfortunately I’m the only one who has any sense of self-preservation,_ ” Steve started, which had Bucky laughing again because _Christ_ that wasn’t anywhere near the truth. “ _Part of the deal to get me to come out here was that they’d call me back if… something specific came up. Which it did._ ”

It was superhero shit, but there was more to it, Bucky could feel it. He didn’t press though, just set his elbow on the arm of the couch and huffed out another sigh. “When do you leave?” He asked instead.

“ _I have to be back in the city by tonight, so soon._ ”

Bucky spoke at the same time Steve did, his “Can I-” mingling with Steve’s “ _Would you_ -“ and making them both laugh. Steve said “ _You go,_ ” with a smile in his voice, so Bucky did.

“Can I come over?”

“ _Please_ ” Steve replied, sounding a little desperate, and Bucky stood, leaving his laptop on the table as he grabbed his keys. He didn’t hang up, just let the sound of Steve moving around his room punctuate his locking up routine.

The sound of footsteps slowly fading in his ear, and the door was opening just as Bucky made it to the stairs. Bucky shoved his phone into his pocket, arms wrapping around Steve’s waist as Steve immediately pulled him in, hugging him tightly. They stayed like that for a minute, two, Steve eased back, tugging Bucky in just enough to get the door closed behind them.

“I can’t believe you’re ditching me for New York City,” Bucky said with a smile, and Steve’s laugh eased the tension in his shoulders a little.

“Sorry Buck,” Steve said, stepping in close again. Bucky took the hint, winding his arms around Steve’s waist, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “She’s the woman for me,” he teased, but it hit Bucky in a way he didn’t want to admit. It’d almost felt like there was an expiry date on the… whatever it was between them. But he’d thought it’d be the end of the week, when he was due to head back to Indiana. Not now, not yet.

Steve seemed to feel it, the shift in Bucky’s demeanour, and his arms tightened a little. “I’ll try and make it back for Friday,” he murmured against Bucky’s hair.

“You’ve got saving the world shit to do,” Bucky said, thumb rubbing against the indent in Steve’s back, the valley where the muscle gave way to the spine. “I think I’ll forgive you if you don’t.”

When Steve just sighed, Bucky let his hands slide to Steve’s hips, then gave him a little shove. “You’ve got packing to do,” he said with a little smile and followed Steve down the hall when the man reluctantly headed back. Sprawling on the other side of Steve’s bed, Bucky pulled out his phone, belatedly hanging up their call before dropping it by his shoulder.

“Sure,” Steve said as he moved to the closet, grabbing a few pieces of clothing Bucky didn’t bother looking too hard at. “Make yourself comfortable why don’t you.”

Bucky smiled innocently up at Steve before poking his leg with a foot as Steve walked past the foot of the bed. “Sure will,” he replied, closing his eyes for a second. They didn’t stay that way long though, Bucky preferring to watch Steve potter around than pretend to sleep.

Steve had been telling the truth back when Bucky had first arrived, he noted absently, looking around the room for a second before his eyes returned to Steve. A separate bedroom, somehow bigger than the one Bucky had slept in, but it felt about as lived in as the other room had. Like an attempt had been made to live there, then the person had given up. But, Bucky realised, it wasn’t exactly his position to say anything about it. People in glass houses, and all that.

It didn’t take long for Steve to pack, even with the extra bits Bucky had gotten for him, and all too soon he was perching on the empty side of the bed, looking down at Bucky with a fond little smile. “As much as I appreciate the view,” he started, and Bucky grinned, stretching out his legs, unable to help but preen a little. Especially if this was the last chance he’d get. Steve swallowed, tried again. “As much as I appreciate this, I’ve gotta lock up,” he said, and Bucky sighed, pushing himself upright and grabbing his phone. Steve grabbed his hand lightly, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles once before letting go, standing.

Bucky dragged himself to his feet, walking around to the open bedroom door, wondering what to expect. He heard the creak of a bag strap behind him, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t left anything on the bed before smiling at Steve, heading for the front door.

“It’s gonna be weird, not having you around,” Bucky said as he paused by the door. Steve caught his hand, pulling him back around lightly before letting go. He dropped his bag at his feet, smiled a little sadly.

“It’s gonna be weird, not having you around to annoy,” Steve retorted, and Bucky wasn’t proud of how strained his laugh sounded. Steve stepped in close, closer than he probably needed to be, not that Bucky would ever complain.

“Hardly annoying,” Bucky replied, needing Steve to know that at least. Steve shifted closer still, and Bucky tipped his head up to meet his eyes. _God_ but they were so damned pretty up close, the tiniest flecks of green in the blue.

“Maybe not yet,” Steve replied, voice dropping low, and Bucky didn’t catch on until Steve’s fingers were catching the short hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. It hit him like a ton of bricks then, breath leaving him in a huff as Steve paused. Silently asking, eyes holding Bucky’s.

Bucky tipped his head up, rocking up onto his toes to bring them level again. He tipped forward, just a little, hand on Steve’s shoulder holding him up, until he could feel Steve’s breath fanning out across his lips. They both paused there, the moment hanging between them, neither willing to break it. Until Steve’s name escaped Bucky’s lips on a quiet plea, then there were lips on his.

It was- nice. Warm, running through him at the places they were touching, until it filled him. Steve tipped his head slightly, hand on Bucky’s hip pulling him in a little closer, then _something_ changed. Then this soft, sweet kiss – a perfect first kiss, really – shifted into something more that had Bucky inhaling his breath on a gasp. Steve’s tongue flicked along his bottom lip, Bucky pressed himself against Steve from shoulder to knee and stopped paying attention to anything but Steve.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Bucky found himself with his legs around Steve’s waist, pressed against the closed front door as Steve brushed kisses over his cheeks, down his throat, back up to his lips. He felt… raw. In the best way, like he’d opened himself up and gotten more than enough back, every nerve going haywire at the contact, at the gentle press of lips on his skin. He cupped Steve’s face in his hands, sending a shiver through Steve, and coaxed his head up. Steve went, reluctance in every movement, but smiled as soon as he saw the look on his face.

“You,” Bucky got out, and Steve’s smile grew, a cocky little cant to his lips.

“Still not annoying?” Steve asked, sounding probably more breathless than he’d intended to. “Not in the doghouse?”

“What,” Bucky said blankly, before huffing out a breath. He let his hands slide back, tugged Steve’s hair a little. “Jury’s out on that one.”

Steve pouted, but Bucky pressed a finger to his lips, which promptly got kissed. Bucky had to fight a smile at that, resolve melting a little. “All this time, you had all this time and it took you ‘til now, on your way out the damned door, to do something?”

He dropped his finger, tapping Steve’s chin, let him speak. “I didn’t know,” Steve said immediately, the appropriate amount of remorse in his tone. “I didn’t know for sure.”

That hit Bucky like a rock in his gut, but he clarified anyway. “Didn’t know if you could trust me?”

Steve shook his head before the last word could escape. “No, no Buck. Didn’t know if you wanted me back.”

“Stupid,” Bucky said, leaning forward and brushing a kiss over Steve’s nose. “I thought you were just ignoring how completely fucking obvious I was being.”

“I’m oblivious, evidently,” Steve mumbled, head dropping a little bit.

Bucky snuck his hand up before Steve could kiss him again, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hey,” he said, making Steve go very still against him. Bucky took a chance, moved his hand, hoping he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself _again_. “None of that. That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.”

Steve’s mouth met his again before the last word could fully leave his mouth, and Bucky curled his fingers in Steve’s shirt, holding on tight.

It was over too soon, Steve pulling back with a smile that could probably power half of Lake Placid for a month. “He must be pretty swell, huh,” Steve said, and Bucky laughed, ducking his head to hide his face in Steve’s shirt.

“He’s also fishing for compliments,” Bucky said, muffled by the fabric. “And ditching me.”

Steve gave an unhappy little grumble at the reminder but slowly pulled back, letting Bucky’s legs go so he could stand of his own accord again. He kept his arms looped around Bucky’s waist and Bucky took that as a hint, leaning into Steve and keeping his arms tight around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky smiled, gentle, a little sad. “Steve. I’m not mad at you for doing your job.” He lifted up on his toes again, pressing his forehead against Steve’s. “Go save the world.”

Steve let out a sigh, then brushed a kiss against Bucky’s nose. He slowly pulled back and Bucky let him go, just watching Steve for a moment before realising he was standing in front of the door. He flushed, making Steve smile, and stepped out of the way so Steve could grab his bag, get out of the house. Following him out, Bucky caught his wrist once he’d locked up.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, “Within reason.”

Steve cracked a smile, twisting his arm to link their fingers for a moment, two. “I’ll do my best,” he responded. “I’ll text you, okay?”

Bucky nodded, finally letting Steve’s arm go. He watched him cross to the garage, emerge with his bike. Steve started it up, then stopped to fiddle with his phone. Once he’d pocketed it, Bucky’s phone buzzed twice in his pocket. Steve was watching him, bike idling at a purr, so Bucky pulled it out, checked the message that’d come in.

“ _I miss you already._ ”

Bucky smiled, shaking his head fondly, replying even though Steve wouldn’t see it until he got to the city. Once he’d hit send, he blew a kiss towards Steve, who grinned back, finally easing the bike away from the curb.

 

*

 

Friday came and went. Bucky packed his bag, phone sitting on the table, turned up to loud even though it always scared the shit out of him. Nothing. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, other than the hopes that Steve was just tied up with his saving-the-world gig for longer than he expected. He didn’t text, not wanting to be a distraction, but he couldn’t help but be disappointed as he got his bag out to the car, locked up.

He did his final checks, _phone-wallet-keys-bag-chargers-laptop-pills_ , then slid the keys into the code-locked mailbox and got into the car. He got his playlist going, then headed towards the airport.

His flight left on time so, Bucky assumed as they passed over the glinting city, whatever it was hadn’t affected New York. _Or_ , part of his brain prompted, unbidden, _maybe Steve had just used it as an excuse_.

Before he went to bed that night, in his own house, his own room, that felt so familiar and yet so wrong, Bucky sent his draft to Sam. Ten minutes later his phone lit up with a kiss emoji from his editor, and he shook his head, plugging his phone in before crashing.

His phone rang at the asscrack of dawn, which was really closer to ten in the morning than Bucky would admit to anyone. Only one person really called him, so he answered without looking, mumbling, “Go away Sam,” into the mouthpiece.

“You don’t sound like someone who’s contact emoji is the peach, but to each their own.”

That wasn’t Sam.

“What?” Bucky asked intelligently, extracting himself from his sheets enough to sit up. He pulled his phone away from his ear to check the screen. The picture was Steve’s, grinning at the camera like a dope. The voice though, that wasn’t Steve’s. “Who?”

“A friend of Steve’s,” the voice said without really saying anything, and Bucky could feel himself slowly waking up, connecting the dots. An Avenger then, probably. ”Are you-” a pause “-Buck?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky said immediately, the name sounding wrong coming from anyone except Steve. “Why are you calling me, off his phone?”

“The first thing he asked for once he was awake was for his phone, you know,” the voice said leisurely, not answering the question. Bucky went cold.

He flung a hand out, fingers catching on the laptop that lived on the other side of his bed, and tugged it to him. A quick google search left him with one possible name, and he said, cautiously, “Natasha?”

The other end went quiet. “You’re quick,” the voice said. “Yes.”

“What’s wrong with Steve.” It wasn’t a question, the way it fell from his lips. A news link caught his eye on his screen and he clicked it, stomach dropping at the headline.

_Captain America Down?_

“He’s fine,” the voice, Natasha, the Black Widow, _Christ_ he was really talking to the Widow, said. “Well, fine is relative. He’s healthy. And moping. He’s boring.”

“What happened? Why are _you_ calling? No offence.”

There was a laugh, amused hopefully. “You’re more fun than he is at the moment. He’s started a million texts to this contact, deleted every single one, moped. I wanted to know who has my friend doing that. And I was curious. Steve doesn’t… use emojis.”

“He uses one,” Bucky said after a second, “Apparently.” There was the faintest snicker from the other end of the line.

“You didn’t know?”

Bucky snorted, leaning against the headboard as his worry dissipated slightly. She didn’t seem overly worried, and if they were friends, Steve being seriously hurt would have been slightly higher on her priorities list. Hopefully.  This conversation was based way more on hope than he felt like a conversation should be. “When I put my name into his phone it wasn’t there, so, it’s news to me.”

A humming sound from the other end of the phone. “I want to make him not-mopey again,” She said after a moment. “Would you be the person to achieve this?”

Bucky hesitated, breath catching in his throat a little. “Maybe?” He said after a second, into the patient silence. “Depends on what he’s moping about I guess.”

“Considering the unsent messages,” Nat started, making Bucky snort, “It’s probably you.”

“If I agree,” Bucky started, and the line went cold. He wasn’t sure how he could feel it, but he could. “If I agree to help you, will you tell me what happened?”

“Oh, that,” She said. “He was climbing a building the hard way, and falling debris knocked him loose. He broke a couple of bones, took a hit to the head, so he’s been sleeping it off. He’s fine though, he heals fast.” There was silence on the other end of the line, but before he could say anything, his phone buzzed in his hand. “Your flight leaves in a few hours, better get moving.”

The phone line disconnected immediately afterwards, and Bucky blinked, before checking the text that had arrived. A flight confirmation, with check-in… shit.

He jumped up, nearly taking himself out as his legs tangled in the sheets. He didn’t know how long he was going for, so just threw his clean clothes pile into a bag and hoped for the best.

He was out of the house in record time, showered and packed with a text sent to Sam that he’d had a family emergency and was out of town for a few days. He ignored the replying _What family??_ as he waited for his Uber, setting his phone to silent.

Once he was in the car, on his way to the airport, Bucky realised the madness in what he was doing. Trusting a woman that was only probably Steve’s friend, to fly across the country to see his – well. They’d been boyfriends once, for the briefest of moments. Bucky wasn’t sure if that still applied. And then, further madness, to think he’d be able to get through normal security on time with the chunk of metal attached to his shoulder. It was a recipe for disaster, honestly.

But, Bucky had done a lot more on just trust before.

The Uber pulled into the airport, and Bucky grabbed his stuff, thanking the driver before all but running to the check-in desk, then got in line for what would probably be the worst TSA experience of his life. But then, when the woman scanned his ticket, she pointed him towards a man standing off to the side. At his look of confusion, she smiled and said “You’re marked for a special screening, sir.”

And… oh. If Natasha had done that maybe, just maybe, she was telling the truth about the rest too.

The plane was halfway to New York City when he realised he had no idea where he was supposed to go. The assumption of the internet was that the whole Avengers Squad lived in the eyesore of a tower in Manhattan, but he highly doubted that the internet was right about that. In any case, he couldn’t just waltz up to the receptionist and demand to be let in… could he?

In the end, it didn’t matter, because as he emerged from the arrivals lounge after a far-too-long debate with airport security who loved to insist he remove the arm bonded to his shoulder even with the special screening marks on his ticket, there was a suited man with a little sign that had his full name on it, and a short woman with too-sharp eyes standing next to him.

He stopped in front of the unlikely pair, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

“James?” The woman said, an eyebrow arching. The voice, and the face, finally connected in his mind.

“Call me Bucky. Natasha, I presume?”

“You’d be correct,” She said, nodding at the man next to her. He nodded back, then disappeared into the bowels of the airport. “Follow me. You’ve never been to his apartment?”

Sorry, internet. No shared tower sitcom. “No, I haven’t,” Bucky said a little awkwardly, falling into step with her as she weaved through the crowd. “We only met about a month ago.” And yet, he realised, it felt like a lot longer than that.

“Hmm,” was all he got in response.

 

*

 

With the softest hint of a tyre squeal, they pulled to a stop outside a small building, typical of Brooklyn if his quick Google was right. “He’s on the third floor, first door on the left,” Natasha said, not turning the car off. “Code to get in the front door is eight-five-three-nine. If you hurt him, I’ll find you.”

Bucky pulled a face, but grabbed his bag, unfolding himself from the sports car that was far too low to the ground for his liking. “You don’t think I will,” he said with a little smile as he closed the door.

The window wound down, and he met Natasha’s eyes across the empty seat. “If I did, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

Bucky snorted but nodded a little. “Thank you.”

“Don’t let him make me do it again,” she said before, with the rumble of the engine, she took off, cutting someone off in the process.

Shaking his head, Bucky headed for the door to the apartment building.

 

*

 

Nervous, suddenly, Bucky knocked on the door. The third floor, first on the left, just like Natasha had said. There was no sound, but then the door was swinging open, a very confused Steve in the doorway.

“What-” he started, before stopping. “Natasha.”

“Peach emoji, huh?” Bucky said, shifting his bag on his shoulder a little. Steve went immediately, violently red at that, and Bucky snorted. He stepped forward, and Steve stepped back, letting him into the apartment.

“It’s accurate, at least,” Steve managed as Bucky dropped his bag on the first available patch of hardwood. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky planted his hands on his hips, one eyebrow going up. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, voice soft in contrast to his stance. “That you got hurt?”

Steve sighed quietly, held out a hand, hesitant. Hopeful. Bucky couldn’t stop himself, taking it and linking their fingers together. Steve used the grip to tug him in, and Bucky went, sagging against Steve as arms curled around him.

“It felt stupid. It _was_ stupid. I didn’t want you to worry because I had my head up my own ass and didn’t see it coming.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, lifting his head up to look squarely at Steve. “I worried more because I didn’t hear from you. I’d rather an idiot boyfriend with a broken hand than not knowing whether he’s alive or not.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, quieter, gentler. “I couldn’t think of the words to even start telling you.”

“Next time,” Bucky said, speaking over Steve’s protesting noise. “There will be a next time, you’re a superhero, Steve. Next time, tell me. I’d rather know you’re okay, anything else can wait.”

Steve’s fingers brushed along his jaw, and Bucky tilted his head up in invitation. He should be more upset, he guessed, but Steve was worth more than that. He was here now, that’s what mattered.

Steve’s lips brushed his, soft and sweet. Apologetic. Bucky nipped his lip as he pulled away, smiled at Steve’s pout, then kissed Steve’s chin.

“Show me around, hero. And maybe kiss me somewhere other than the damned doorway, you’re making a habit of it.”

Steve laughed, nudging Bucky deeper into the apartment. “With pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [spacebuck](https://spacebuck.tumblr.com/) !


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